Incandescence
by Majesta Moniet
Summary: A collection of Post-Clockwork Princess oneshots. #5: He was always having to teach her things. But maybe he was the one who had learned the most.
1. After Midnight

**AN:** All of the chapters of this "story" will be individual, and often self-contained, oneshots and drabbles that take place after the events of Clockwork Prince. They will include various characters and pairings. I will raise the rating of the story if I end up including more mature content in later sections. Look for content warningsat the beginning of each new fic.

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><p><strong>After Midnight<strong>

Tessa watched Jem play from their bed. Sometimes her eyes were on the bow as it sailed across the strings or on his fingers as they pressed elegantly against the neck. These motions were captivating, and Tessa liked to watch and match them to the elegant notes ringing in the air. But usually Tessa's eyes didn't stray far from Jem's. In the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes shone like liquid silver catching the moonlight. From the moment he began the piece to the time that it ended, his gaze would never leave her. She knew this with the same certainty she knew that the sun would rise in the morning.

Jem once told her, "I closed my eyes when I played because I wanted to forget the world. Now I want to forget everything but you."

Arms hugging her legs against her chest, Tessa recalled the first time he'd ever played to her like this. It had been their wedding night. She had been so senselessly nervous when they retired to their room for the evening, and Jem had been so perceptive that he simply asked her to sit while he began playing a piece he said reminded him of her. And from there the night had progressed so beautifully.

She imagined most people would be unnerved by the attention, but Tessa didn't mind it. She liked the feeling that she was somehow _giving_ something to him as he watched her, something that he took and turned into his extraordinary music. If she were not here, he could not play as if she were. That is how he made her feel on nights like these. As if she was something essential, as necessary to music as the instrument in his hands.

The piece he was playing now was a familiar one, so Tessa knew when he lowered the bow that he had ended it prematurely. Eyes still on her, he laid the violin on the chest at the foot of the bed and smiled.

Tessa grinned into her knees, watching his unhurried approach. He was humming the chords, continuing the song he had abandoned so that it did not die but moved closer, carried on his lips until it was touching her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

"You do that so beautifully," she murmured and accepted the tune with a kiss. "I can't sing at all."

His hands slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head just above the upturned collar of the shirt she had tugged on—the shirt he had worn that day. Tessa released her legs so that he could move between them. His heat made her conscious of just how cold she was. She clung to him tightly as he answered her kiss with another and then another. "You sing for me."

He smelled like their sheets and looked just as rumpled, standing in front of her in nothing but his wrinkled trousers. They had gone to bed early but hadn't slept at all.

She was beginning to feel tired now.

Her fingers traced their way up his spine to the gentle ridges of his shoulder blades, which were laced with faint scars. Tessa had learned these scars, had mapped them out herself because Jem often slept stretched out on his stomach, and there were nights when Tessa hardly slept at all. She even knew their meanings after searching them out in a book Charlotte had made available to her. She was grateful for these scars.

"You're yawning."

"Mm," she hummed and drew her hands around to his chest, where the black runes lay in stark contrast to the ivory of his skin. He shivered at her touch and then leaned into it.

Tessa could recall a time when Jem had been self-conscious about his body. The first occasion when they had landed on this bed in a spontaneous tangle of limbs and unchecked want, fervor had swept them along towards something they—at the time—could only blindly grasp for. Amidst all of that neediness and passion had been Jem's apology, his embarrassment at his own appearance. As if he could have been anything less than exquisite.

But intertwined as they were now, that time of discomfort felt so long ago. Hesitation had given way to the boldness of a lover's intimate familiarity. She and Jem had grown into themselves while growing into each other, and neither of them would ever be quite the same. It was a comforting thought.

Tessa found herself struck by the need to be closer to Jem _now_. She wanted his weight against, their skin touching as naturally as a right and left hand coming together. She pulled Jem's shirt up over her head and let if fall to the floor. Then her hands found the button of Jem's trousers, worked it free, and pushed the offending material down his body.

"Let's go to sleep," she said.

Jem smiled at her curiously but complied, slipping into the bed beside her and pulling the blankets up around them. She liked the way Jem held her, one hand pressed to her stomach and the other caressing the fine hairs at her temple. When she closed her eyes, she imagined that could still hear him making music. But the only sound was his breath against her neck.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> If you have prompts for future oneshots or drabbles, I would be happy to hear them. :)


	2. The Cylinders and the Ratchets

**The Cylinders and the Ratchets**

"What do you suppose this is all about?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps Henry needs our assistance."

The front legs of Will's chair hit the stone floor with a resounding _crack_. He leaned across the small table toward Jem. "If Charlotte thinks she can order us to be subjects in one of Henry's daft experiments, then it really is true what they say about childbearing driving women to madness. I don't care if she's with child. She could be carrying the reincarnation of Jonathon Shadowhunter himself, and it wouldn't make a blasted difference. I won't do it."

Jem's eyes were lit with amusement. "Do you think that's terribly likely? Charlotte and Henry's son an incarnation of Jonathon Shadowhunter? It would certainly explain the violent outbursts at the breakfast table."

"I suppose." Will leaned back, arms crossed and head inclined. "I have heard that old John, too, had a rather aggressive disposition toward overdone eggs."

"I was referring more to the fear Charlotte manages to strike into the hearts of everyone present."

"So that isn't just me, then?"

The door to the lab swung open and Charlotte—preceded by her ever-growing stomach—entered with Henry following more slowly in her wake. She looked pleased to see both Jem and Will present. Henry, on the other hand, looked quite nervous. He was red-faced and kept running a hand through his hair while staring at one of the walls.

"Jem. Will." Charlotte did not wait for them to return the greeting but launched headlong into what was clearly a prepared statement of disclosure. "Neither of you are the young boys you were when you first arrived at the Institute. You're young men now. Gentlemen, in fact, on most days." Her eyes slid unmistakably to Will, and if Jem weren't a gentleman _every_ day, he might have grinned at his _parabatai_'s expense. "Soon you will both be of age, and Jem is…" Her voice quivered, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She held a hand out toward Henry, who absently placed a handkerchief in her palm while still staring at the wall in discomfiture. Gently, she dabbed the white square beneath her eyes. "And Jem is to be married in a month. He will be a husband. And there are…certain aspects of being a husband, of being a man at all, that perhaps have yet to be made explicit to you."

Will's eyes met Jem's across the table. Jem shrugged in response to Will's silent question.

"What I mean to say is,"—she cleared her throat as if the words were stuck there—"that there are certain _physical _aspects a man must consider should he engage intimately with a woman he has married or a woman he harbors…affection for. And Henry wants to tell you all about it." She rushed out the last part, catching her husband's sleeve and leading him forward to where the two younger men were seated.

The realization of what was about to happen set in, and the temperature in the room seemed to have risen. Jem's silver features colored with a shot of pink across his cheeks. He looked down at his cane propped against the table to avoid having to look at anyone else. Will, on the other hand, leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed and a grin on his face. "Oh, this should be interesting."

Henry stared wide-eyed at them for two long seconds and then whipped back around toward Charlotte, consulting her in low tones they couldn't make out.

Jem rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I think I preferred the idea of being stuck with a needle and bleeding into one of those glass tubes."

"Nonsense. This is bound to be thoroughly educational. I have complete faith in Henry's ability to relay the finer points of 'intimately engaging' with a woman I 'harbor affection for.'"

"Don't be cruel."

"I assure you I'm quite capable of being gentle."

Jem rolled his eyes.

The sound of the door closing drew their attention back to Henry who was now standing alone. He glanced back and forth between them, tugged once more at his hair, and then shook his head. "Right." He cleared his throat, and strode purposely forward. "So as Charlotte said, I am here to resolve any questions you may have about, um—"

"Intimate engagement," Will offered.

"Yes, yes." Henry looked relieved. "About being intimately involved with a woman. It may not seem complicated, but it's best to be prepared."

Looking appropriately concerned, Will folded his hands on the table-top. "You know, I've always been more of a visual learner. Maybe it would be easier if you drew a diagram." He _just_ managed to dodge the toe of Jem's boot, which had been aimed at his shin.

Henry's face pinched as he considered the request. "Well…I don't…" His eyes brightened. "I have just the thing."

Henry hurried over to one of the several waist-high tables that lined the room and began rummaging through the piles of clutter. As he searched, he muttered to himself. Jem and Will caught the words 'valve' and 'lubricant' and waited in varying degrees of suspense until Henry gave a cry of success and returned. He placed a ratchet and metal cylinder in front of them.

"This,"—Henry held up the hollow cylinder—"represents the woman. And this," he held of the ratchet—"represent the man."

Jem's eyebrows shot up. Will's grinned, quite entertained. "I already feel more enlightened."

"In a moment," Henry continued, "we will need my oil injector, but we shall begin with the basics…"

And for the next twenty minutes, Jem and Will listened to a very thorough introduction to 'intimate engagement.' This included a demonstration that encountered only one snag—the premature dispersion of the oil injector, which Henry reassured them was not an entirely false representation of reality. Beyond that there were a few puzzling references to pressure and steam engines and a cautionary tale about diseases (not all of them were as easy to avoid as demon pox). At the end, he asked if they had any questions.

Will raised his hand. "Is that model done to scale?"

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> The prompt for this one came from angel-gidget over on tumblr. It was fabulous, and I had a lot of fun writing it. Until next time. :)


	3. On An Eve

**On An Eve**

"Stop mothering me." Will huffed and attempted to wrench his arm free but only managed a sideways stumble into a stool. "You're not my mother."

"No," Jem replied wryly, "I'm not."

"Bloody right you're not. Too bloody broad-shouldered to be anyone's bloody mother. And too bloody _hairy_."

Sighing, Jem steadied his _parabatai_ and eyed the number of empty glasses overturned on the table where Will had been sitting. Just considering the amount of alcohol they must have consumed left Jem feeling a little bit ill. "Do you have any money?"

"I don't have to pay."

"Do you have any money?"

"We could just glamour and walk out and not—what the devil!"

Ignoring his loud protests, Jem searched Will's pockets, checking first his jacket and then his waistcoat. Finally, he found some notes tucked in a breast pocket. Jem tossed them on the table and then began steering Will toward the door.

"Oh, that was _very_ generous of you, James. The wench will likely think I'm the heir to some upstart industrial fortune. That I own half the sheep in Yorkshire, and I can just throw my money around as I please. Or worse, she'll think I'm in love with her."

"Or,"—Jem stopped to shoulder open the door, exposing them both to icy blast of cold air—"she'll think you were just too drunk to realize you overcompensated. Which you nearly were."

"Women never think that. They prefer us wealthy and besotted."

As they stepped out of the public house and into the slush of the streets, Will stopped short. The ale-induced flush of his cheeks was heightened by the brisk December night air. Jem noted the way his bright eyes sluggishly looked about them in perplexity.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

"Rubbish. I don't want to go home."

Another stiff breeze cut mercilessly through the material of Jem's jacket, and he regretted not coming in the coach. "Well, I do."

"Of course you do." This time Will successfully shrugged off Jem's hand and swayed on his own two feet. "You'll be going home to a beautiful woman waiting for you. To _Tessa_."

His wife's name sounded like reverent curse on Will's lips, and Jem wondered if they had had another one of their heated disagreements and if that was the reason Will was out drinking alone on Christmas Eve. Sometimes keeping the peace between the two of them was rather like separating two angry cats vying for the same saucer of milk.

"She'll be waiting for you, too," Jem assured him. "She nearly insisted on coming with me to retrieve you." He smiled at the memory of her adamant expression as she declared her willingness to assist him in the search. "But she's been feeling so ill lately, I thought it better that she avoid being out in this."

"Yes." Will sounded distracted as he began shuffling in the direction of the Institute. Jem fell in step beside him. "You were right, of course. You're always right."

"Tomorrow, when you're sober, I'll remind you that you said that."

Will did not scoff or grin as Jem would have expected him to in this state. Instead, he looked grave as he watched the muddy road pass beneath his boots. "It was the right thing to do."

They walked for a while in silence. Every once in a while Jem had to give Will a nudge in the right direction or steady him on his feet, but they made steady progress. They were a street down from the Institute and passing by the darkened storefront of a watchmaker when Will suddenly stopped.

"James?"

"Hm?"

"All that time you loved her and you never told me. Why not?"

It takes Jem but a moment to pick up the loose thread of a conversation they had months ago—and a day he was never likely to forget. "I wish you wouldn't take it as a slight against you or our friendship that I didn't say anything. It wasn't faith in you that I lacked."

"Why then?" His eyes were dark with hurt thinly veiled by irritation. "How are you and I to be one, to be _parabatai_, if you hide such things from me?"

He supposed Will wasn't sober enough to appreciate the irony of such a statement coming from someone who'd kept a life-threatening secret for years. "Because as certain as I was of my affections, I was decidedly less confident in them amounting to anything," he said evenly. "It seemed absurd to even consider making such a declaration when I knew there wasn't a chance I could rightfully act on it. It was easier to keep it to myself." The trapped, hopeless feeling, which he hadn't experienced since Tessa's acceptance of his proposal, returned to him now only as an echo of a painful memory. "In the end I was glad to be proven wrong, of course."

Will regarded him quietly. He was probably beginning to sober up. No one could remain intoxicatedfor long in this cold. "You won't keep something like that from me again, will you?"

He looked so solemn; Jem had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his smile from showing. "You want to know a secret, then?"

"What?"

"I think Tessa may be with child."

Will's eyes widened. "But she…"

"I know." Jem reclaimed his arm and began moving them forward again. "She hasn't said anything to me about it because she's worried it won't be true. I think she's waiting to see one of the Brothers for confirmation. But the symptoms are all there. And you mustn't let her know I've caught on."

"Jem I—" Will's hand gripped his shoulder, halting their progress once more. They stood, facing one another on the side of the deserted street. Jem was tired, his fingers had begun to go numb, and his face stung from the abusive whip of the wind. And yet all of that mattered very little as he witnessed the change that overcame his _parabatai_. It was rare, even now after the curse had been dismissed as false, for Will to be unguarded with his true feelings. So watching his initial astonishment turn to quiet wonder was something of a novel experience for Jem, who couldn't help but feel a similar emotion swell in his own chest.

"Jem, I'm,"—Will shook his head—"I'm so happy for you. For both of you." Some shadow of emotion flickered across his face, but it was gone too quickly for Jem to make out. Then Will was giving a small grin. "You'll be a good father."

Jem's own smile was strained. "If I live to be a father."

Will's hand tightened around his shoulder. "You will."

He sounded so certain. It almost made Jem feel better.

"Come on." He clapped Will on his raised arm. "If we take much longer, Tessa really will come out looking for us both."

Will watched him a moment longer and then nodded his agreement. "You're right. Again." Together they started off down the street.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> First off, thank you to the beautiful and talented Justine for pre-reading this oneshot. This particular installment is a conglomeration of several prompts I've received from various people. So thank you for the inspiration!

For those of you waiting for a KtNB update...I am so sorry about the delay. The chapter is in the editing process, so I'm writing short stories like these to keep myself occupied in the meantime. Hopefully I'll be able to update soon.


	4. Fantasy

**Fantasy**

It started off innocently enough. The topic of names for Charlotte and Henry's baby had been brought up again, and while everyone else argued over the merit of 'Jocelyn' for a boy, Jem and Tessa found themselves tucked away in the back of the parlor, heads bent close together.

"Owen."

"Daniel. Or Matthew."

"Biblical, then?"

"Not necessarily. I am also fond of Lián."

Jem smiled slowly. "I'm not sure Henry could manage the pronunciation as well as you."

"Perhaps not. But…do you like it?"

His hand covered hers on the armrest of the chair, and Tessa could not explain the sudden blush that overcame her. Jem regarded her softly. "Yes. I like it very well."

After that it was only small things. A purely theoretical discussion on the likelihood of Jem's condition being passed on through blood. Comments on the differences between child-rearing in England and child-rearing in America. An extra bonnet stitched. Lullabies practiced on the violin. The hazy imagining of a small, round-faced child with dark hair and gray eyes.

They did not realize what had happened, until one evening Tessa found herself on the floor of her room, clutching one of Jessamine's little wooden dolls and crying quiet unreservedly. She did not understand the loss the she felt, could not comprehend her own terrible sadness, until Jem pulled her into his lap and whispered one of those simple, childish songs in her ear.

_"Have you got a home like me, and a father kind to see? Little Child, at you I peep, while you lie so fast asleep. But when dawn begins to break, I my homeward journey take. For I've many friends on high, living with me in the sky…"_

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><p><em><em>**AN:** This drabble was originally written for angel-gidget on tumblr. The prompt was "jem/tessa, fantasy."


	5. Toward Grace

**Toward Grace**

"Relax your arm."

"Like this?"

"Not precisely. Keep it elevated, but loosen your grip."

"It's going to fall out of my hand if I do."

"It won't, I promise. There. Like that. Feel better?"

"Yes, I suppose. Now, do I move from the elbow or the wrist?"

"Both. The strength of the music comes from your shoulder, it's heart comes from the elbow, and it's spirit from the wrist."

Tessa exhaled deeply, allowing her posture to give for only a moment before she resolutely straightened her back. Readjusting her chin against the folded cloth, she focused on holding the bow aloft. "So I am to use all three. Very well. What next?"

Jem's hand, slim and warm, covered hers, guiding the bow to move down against the strings until an inharmonious jumble of notes rang out—an offensive sound that reminded Tessa of the noise Church had made when Will caught his tail in the library door the other day.

"I'm dreadful."

Jem chuckled, and she could feel the sound, his chest bumping against her shoulders in a way that filled her with affection. "It will take practice," he said diplomatically. "And rightfully so. Were you to master the violin the first time you held it in your hands, it would do terrible things to my confidence."

"I'll need lessons every night if there's to be a chance of improvement."

"Don't worry. I won't be requiring a public concert of you any time soon. We'll stick to private instruction until you can manage at least a passable rendition of Little Tommy Tucker."

Tessa grinned, nodding her agreement as a restful silence seemed to settle around them. It was well after dark, and what little sound there was on the streets below the Institute was muffled by shuttered windows. A dozen candle flames stood tall and slim above tarnished, silver stands. Their light was restful and unwavering in the bedroom's stillness. Tessa preferred the softness of candlelight to the harsher luminescence of the Nephilim's witchlights. A nostalgia perhaps. Tessa had countless childhood memories of new book spines cracking beneath the glow of diffused candlelight. Invariably in the morning, the candle burned down to a wickless stump, the sconce scaled with dry wax. Aunt Harriet had always rebuked her for the habit.

After the wedding, when Tessa and Jem were consolidating their belongings into his room, the substitution of candles for witchlights was one of the few changes Tessa had requested. The suggestion earned a boyish grin from Jem followed by a softly spoken phrase in Mandarin (of which, she was only able to comprehend the words 'modesty' and 'beauty').

Tessa lowered the violin. She half-turned in the circle of Jem's arms. They were both dressed for bed—Tessa in her nightgown and Jem in a light tunic and trousers. The shirt was undone in the front, revealing the distinct angle of his collarbone and the slivers of scars and ink cast across his chest like the markings of some celestial map. She traced the _balance_ rune on his neck before meeting his eyes. "You're always having to teach me things."

His chin tipped as he regarded her curiously. Lifting a hand, he tucked her braid back over her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Since my arrival at the Institute, you've taught me all sorts of things. You showed me how to navigate the city. You've explained so much of the Shadow World, and, beyond that, you've helped train me to defend myself against it. Six months ago you began teaching me Mandarin, and now you're starting on the violin. You would think I didn't have a single accomplishment to my name before I came here."

She didn't mean to sound self-pitying. Tessa counted herself lucky to be on the receiving end of Jem's inexhaustible generosity and patience. He along with the others had always been—in Tessa's reflective opinion—rather over-obliging in terms of her curiosity. Even before she and Jem married—when she was still considered an outsider by the Clave—there was seldom an occasion when Tessa would be denied information she directly requested. Standing here in the room she shared with her husband, Tessa felt she could fill book after book with everything she'd learned since leaving America less than a year ago.

"Is that what you think?" Jem said, with no small amount of wonder in his voice. She could tell he was trying not to smile.

"Isn't it true?" Tessa stepped away and turned toward the table where the violin case was propped open. She tucked the instrument into the fine velvet and secured the bow beside the rosin before closing and latching the case the way she had seen Jem do it countless time before. When she turned back to him, he was watching her through the tousled strands of his silvery hair. Shadows licked at the hollow of his throat while the light playing across his face softened the angles until all the color and lines seemed to be washed from his figure. Were it not for the broad, unyielding width of his shoulders, it seemed he could have melted into the shades of darkness that breathed in a living spectrum around the room.

Tessa felt a tightening in her chest at the thought. She had made an unspoken promise to never linger on the thought that Jem would ever be anywhere but here with her and the people who loved him. Just considering the possibility of losing him was enough to turn her bones cold with fear.

In two hurried, graceless steps she reached Jem, who caught her by the arm before she could trip on the hem of her nightgown. She steadied herself with a hand against his ribs and did her best to return his thoughtful stare. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Have I ever lied to you?"

Tessa didn't have to consider. "Never."

"Then, I hope that you'll believe me when I say that you are one of the most accomplished women I have ever met. And if you feel that you are anything less than exquisite, I have failed you as a husband."

Tessa smiled because Jem had not lost the ability to make her blush, and she felt her cheeks warm now at his sincerity. "The things you say, James. I feel obligated to remind you that you've already wooed me one and are under no obligation to woo me a second time."

"Tessa." Jem lowered his face to hers. His palm curved around her cheek. She felt his breath like a kiss. "You know I haven't any practice at flattery. And you should also know that any accomplishments I managed before we met are decidedly humble compared to the accomplishment of having you as my wife."

Tessa bit her lip. A warm shiver ran up her spine. As her fingertips fluttered over inked skin, she wondered at her reaction to the simple declaration. Would it always be like this? Butterflies dancing in her stomach every time he called her _his_? Thinking of herself as Jem's wife still didn't come easy; it came fast and throbbing, like a second heart beating in her chest.

Tessa turned her smile into the palm of his hand. "Truly?"

"Truly. And you've taught me a great deal. About America. About books and poetry. About the injustices done to women by their clothes"—Tessa laughed—"and about what it means to be brave." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "You taught me what it means to fall in love."

The night began growing around them, a slow churning that gave way to heightened expectation as Tessa allowed Jem to guide her toward their bed. She sat on the edge, and Jem deftly tugged at the tie in her hair until it came free. She closed her eyes against the overwhelming feeling of his hands pushing through her tresses, coaxing them into waves down her back.

Her own deft fingers sought out the sides of his open tunic, pushing the cloth off his shoulders and down to his wrists. When he released her to let it fall away, Tessa took advantage of the distraction. Leaning forward, she pressed her parted lips to the soft slope of his stomach, smiling when his breath caught.

"You've taught me so much, _wǒ de ài_," he murmured, the intonations thick on his tongue, as he regarded her beneath half-closed eyes.

"Tell me," she breathed. Beneath her lips, his heart was beating at a swift, rugged pace that she had learned to distinguish from the restless rhythm of _yin fen_ racing through his veins. This particular sound was all her doing.

"I can show you," Jem said and eased her further back onto the bed. Tessa turned, making space for him to follow her onto the duvet. Of course, Jem was infinitely more graceful. While she managed to get tangled in her nightgown, he hovered between her legs, grinning down at her struggle in fond amusement.

Toes stubbornly caught in the hem, she fell back against the pillows with a sigh. "Just take it off."

Jem kissed her cheek in consent and reached for the tie begin her neck. "You taught me how to do this."

He took his time, fingers dancing over her skin in distracted circles, tugging half-heartedly at the simple knot.

Tessa could hardly stand the teasing.

"Kiss me, please."

He did, tenderly, slowly and deeply enough that Tessa felt every part of her being sighing and warming in answer. As Jem bared her arms, she wound them around his neck, pulling him close and bearing his full weight. It was heady breathlessness and the dampness of skin.

"You also taught me this." The words passed from Jem's lips the same time his fingers tips swept up her thigh and to the sensitive place between her legs, a spot they had first discovered quite by accident.

When Tessa closed her eyes, she could recall the night with an almost perfect clarity. They were in Egypt. A week had passed since their departure from London, and it was the first night Tessa had given in to the temptation to have Jem's body pinned beneath hers. A mild breeze carried the scent of sand through the open window. It was dark, and when she rolled her hips down into his, there was a blooming fission of warmth low in her belly. And Jem noticed—followed her wordless entreaties down, down until she had felt desperate for him to never stop touching her _there_.

The memory made her body ache.

"Jian..."

The hand spreading her thigh twitched suddenly. Jem's eyes, pale and translucent in the dim light, regarded her with unmasked veneration. "My name. Somehow you've taught me that as well."

When his touch receded, she bit her lip to keep from whimpering. She followed the progress of his scarred and Marked hands as they traveled up along her body—cradling her hips, then skimming her sides beneath the cotton of her gown. She arched her body, helping him rid her of the garment completely.

His lips were at her ear, her temple, the bridge of her nose.

His voice, faint and paler than the dying candlelight, floated over her. "Do you know the most important thing you've taught me?"

Tessa didn't have the breath, the coherency, to offer any answer save to reach for the hard lines of his hips and guide him forward, inside. Anything Jem might have said was lost amongst the ineffable, shut out like the rain muffled against blackened windows.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> HAPPY VALENTINES DAY, JUSTINE. THIS IS FOR YOU, BB. I'M SORRY IF IT'S TERRIBLE AND NOT AS TRASHY AS I PROMISED. xoxoxoxoxoxooo


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